


Burn

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss isn’t pure, nor weak – and she’s going to prove it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> For shinrinnoyousei at Tumblr, who requested Everlark: Possessive/dominating Katniss in the elevator before the Quarter Quell.

 

 

With the distraction provided by Haymitch’s insistence that they make allies, and her own reluctance to do so with so many of this year’s tributes, Peeta’s words don’t reemerge in her mind until after their final training session.

 

_It’s because you’re so pure_.

 

They’re riding the elevator back to their floor, Peeta absentmindedly watching the rest of the building pass them by – while Katniss watches him. A thin sheen of sweat covers his face and arms. She knows that he had shown off his strength by using the weights during this final session, more for his own physical benefit than as a final attempt to impress potential allies.

 

As if sensing that he has her attention, Peeta turns to her and delivers a small but intrigued smile. “What?”

 

“I’m not pure,” she blurts out.

 

Confusion clouds his expression, but only for a moment. “Katniss, I was only trying to explain –“

 

“You were laughing at me,” she interrupts, her anger resurfacing once more. “You think I’m too serious, that I don’t understand what it’s like to want someone –“

 

“Oh, I know you want _someone_ ,” he cuts in, his expression turning sour immediately. But when he sees her surprise, he seems to regret his words. “I know you’ve had a difficult life, Katniss. I _know_ that, more than the likes of Finnick and Johanna do. And I wasn’t laughing at you,” he adds softly.

 

If he had meant to mollify her, he hasn’t succeeded. In fact, his words have the opposite effect. One name in particular ignites that flame of anger deep in her chest. “Do you want Johanna?” she asks bluntly.    

 

His answer is simple. “No.”

 

“You spent a lot of time with her during training.”

 

He steps closer. “I could say the same about you and Finnick.”

 

“He was showing me how to make knots,” she explains, indignant. “And besides, _he_ hasn’t taken his clothes off in front of me.”

 

“That wasn’t for my benefit.”

 

She scoffs. “I’m sure some of it was for your benefit.”

 

He takes another step, now so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek as she averts her gaze.

 

“You sound jealous, Katniss.”

 

She knows that she does. That’s the problem.

 

“Why would I be jealous?”

 

His huff of laughter warms the side of her face. “That’s what I keep asking myself.”

 

She finally looks back at him, determined not to be intimidated by his intense gaze.

 

But his proximity is too much, and she does the only thing she can think of to regain the upper hand. She shoves him, just like she had done a year earlier, when he had confessed his crush on her to the entire world. When she had thought that he had made her look weak.

 

She isn’t weak – and she’s going to prove that.

 

She follows as his momentum takes him back to the center of the elevator by a couple of steps. She shoves him again, harder this time, and coupled with the slowing of the elevator, he trips over the heel of his foot and stumbles onto the ground, landing by the doors on both of his palms as well as his ass.  

 

She can’t help but grin at the look of shock that graces his features as he stares up at her. And it’s this that propels her next action – hitting the emergency stop button at the bottom of the control panel above him.

 

They must be only a meter of so below their floor, too high for anyone in the rest of the building to see them unless they were up against the glass panels. But they’re not, and no one would be able to see Peeta where he is currently sat.

 

No one would be able to see her either if she were to join him.

 

Which is precisely what she does, placing her feet on either side of his sprawled legs before lowering herself into his lap. She knows that he’s holding his breath as he watches her with wide eyes.

 

His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally does speak. “Katniss…”

 

“No one can see us here.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

 

She circles her hips over his, reveling in the way he bucks up to meet her in a way that suggests that he can’t stop himself. “Then, what _are_ you worried about?”

 

“That this isn’t what you want. That you’re just doing this because you’re angry.”

 

She can’t deny that there is some truth in his words – but it isn’t her only reason. “In two days, we’re going back in, Peeta. And we’re not coming out, not together. So, yes, I’m angry – about a lot of things. But I also have regrets… and I only have two days to make them right.”

 

“Am I one of your regrets?” he asks quietly as he slips his fingers under the hem of her training shirt to rest against the small of her back. She gasps at his touch, and he responds by pressing tighter.

 

“Yes. But not in the way that you think,” she adds when disappointment creeps into his expression.

 

Their movements have synchronized now, and when she inches closer, she can feel his arousal through the flimsy fabric of his pants. He watches her carefully.

 

“I’m not pure,” she says again.

 

He groans as she grinds her hips down harder. “That’s not exactly what I said,” he reminds her. “I said that you were pure for the Capitol – and that you were perfect for me.”

 

“I’m not perfect,” she snaps back.

 

His grin turns wicked. “You feel pretty close to perfect right now.”

 

_So do you_ , she thinks when he pushes up once more, but can’t bring herself to say out loud.

 

“I’ve had thoughts, just like anybody else,” she says, pressing into his groin. “I’ve… experimented.”

 

An eyebrow shoots up in surprise. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me what you like.”

 

She can’t bring herself to _tell_ him – but she can show him.

 

His eyes widen as she slips her hand beneath the waistband of her clothing. She watches him watch her as she uses two fingers against her clit and begins the rhythm that she’s perfected over recent months. After a few moments, he shifts and brings his own hand around to the front of her body, cupping her over her training pants.

 

_He wants to learn_ , she realizes, the thought adding to her excitement.

 

Before she can talk herself out of it, she lifts up onto her knees and pulls her clothing down as far as they’ll go. Peeta bites his lip as he gazes down at her exposed groin, hairless thanks to her prep team’s ministrations.

 

When she continues touching herself, he watches open-mouthed, glancing up to meet her eyes every now and then.

 

She falters when he lingers on her face a little too long, and he gives her a smile that is half-reassuring and half-imploring. “Please, don’t stop.”

 

So she doesn’t, and when she speeds up, he leans forward to whisper in her ear. “You look so beautiful right now.”

 

She only just has time to wrap her free arm around his shoulder and pull him flush against her when she comes with a sharp cry. She is vaguely aware of the way his hands move upward to support her back, stroking gently as she descends from her high and slumps onto him. 

 

And it’s now that the rational part of her mind begins to awaken and ask her what on earth she thinks she’s doing, sat in an elevator in the Capitol and baring herself to Peeta – in more ways than one.

 

So she does the only thing that she can think of to chase the thought away. She asks Peeta to bare himself too.

 

“Your turn,” she whispers into his ear.

 

She leans back and grabs his hips in an attempt to encourage him to move. After a second, he does, and she watches as he pulls his pants and undershorts down to his thighs in one swift movement.

 

She knows that he’s watching her as she stares down at his cock, but can’t force her eyes up or even away to the side. Instead, she wraps her fingers around him, stroking experimentally. When she tightens her grip, he bucks under her touch, and she remembers how good it had felt to have him writhe beneath her earlier.

 

He’s too far away now, with her sat almost on top of his knees. So she moves forward once more, withdrawing her hand for a moment so that she can feel him against her clit.

 

He doesn’t disappoint, pushing up and making them both gasp at the contact. They move in the same way that they had done earlier, this time without any clothing getting in the way.

 

He curses, whispering words that she has never heard from his lips, and it makes her smile to think that she can make _Peeta Mellark_ lose control of his vocal faculties. He pleads with her again. “Please don’t stop.”

 

She has no intention to, and tells him exactly that.

 

If she wanted to – and if _he_ wanted to – she could take him inside her body, if only for a moment. As if sensing her thoughts, he digs his fingers into her waist to get her attention. “We still have time,” he says softly. “It doesn’t have to be right now.”

 

He’s right. They still have another two days before the Games begin.

 

Two days to _live_.

 

She remembers that way he had reacted when she had taken his cock into her hand, so she lifts herself high enough to slip her fingers between them. He’s slick when she touches him now, and it thrills her to know that it’s _her_ moisture that coats him. He slides up and down much more easily in her hand this time, and from the way that he looks at her through half-lidded eyes, it seems to be even more enjoyable for him too.

 

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells her soon after she settles on a steady pace. She speeds up instinctively, knowing the way that she likes to be brought to climax herself.

 

“Fuck,” is all he manages to whisper before he bucks for one last time and stills, squirting onto his own stomach through her fingertips. She watches, fascinated, until he brings his hand up to cover hers and signals for her to stop stroking him. She does, letting go and moving with him when he leans back against the metal door.

 

“I’m not pure,” she tells him once more, before thinking that it’s a ridiculous thing to say when they’re both lying there, exposed and marked by the remnants of each other’s arousal. But Peeta doesn’t laugh at her.

 

“No, you’re not,” he agrees this time, brushing loose strands of hair away from her cheek. “But for me, you’re still perfect.”

 

 


End file.
